


Wings and Water

by JadeNightTheWriter



Series: Wings and Flyte [9]
Category: Septimus Heap - Angie Sage
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate POV, Drabble Collection, Gen, Missing Scene, No Beta We Yeet Our Fics Into the Void at 3am, POV Third Person, Water, Wings AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27386092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeNightTheWriter/pseuds/JadeNightTheWriter
Summary: "Wings were not meant to be underwater."5 characters from Septimus Heap and their takes on the phrase.
Series: Wings and Flyte [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991479
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	Wings and Water

**Author's Note:**

> Haha no editing whatsoever, let me know of any mistakes. And enjoy!

Wings were not meant to be underwater, and Boy 409 knew this very well. A bit too well at this point, because the nets around them dragged him down further, as Boy 412’s shout echoed in his ears.

One second, as the boat’s silhouette paused. Two seconds, as it moved on. Three seconds, as it sailed out of sight. Four seconds, as Boy 409 struggled upwards, bursting through the river’s surface with a desperate gasp. 

He had escaped, but Boy 412 had not.

With a hard, heavy feeling in his chest, Boy 409 swam towards the bank the boat had just left. The Forest, it was called, and for all the danger it posed it was safer than the Young Army. Safer, but not quite safe.

He perched on a river rock, staying away from the treeline until he could think clearly again. A beam of moonlight peeked through the grey wisps of clouds, shining on him like a beacon. Boy 409 curled in tighter on himself, and didn’t relax until the bright silver light vanished again and he stood up.

Just another shadow in the Forest, he stepped into the trees and the darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

Wings were not meant to be underwater, but Nicko didn’t mind. The currents of the Moat tickled his feathers as he swam to the bottom of the Port Barge to pry off a few stubborn barnacles. Overhead, he could hear Jannit yelling at someone to _get out of the way_.

When Nicko emerged from the water with a gasp, he shook out his wings first, sorting through the feathers until they locked back in place. It would be a few minutes until he could fly again, but that was alright. There wasn’t much that needed flying in the Boatyard anyway.

Rupert caught his eye from his perch on a nearby boat railing and waved Nicko over. The two boys sat side-by-side in a companionable silence while Jannit ordered around the Port men, letting the sunlight drain the last droplets from their feathers.

* * *

_Wings were not meant to be underwater_ , Syrah thought distantly as the ocean dragged her downwards, the cold water pulling her almost gently, but firm and impossible to escape. 

As the breath slipped from her lungs she managed to **Call** a dolphin, and Syrah clung to her dorsal fin, brilliant emerald wings tucked close to reduce drag. 

The creature deposited her close to a beach, chirping worriedly when she coughed up saltwater. She gave her a weak smile, stumbling towards the sandy white beach.

Her wings drooped behind her, shining with a coating of water, drops rolling off the tips of the feathers. Syrah collapsed on the sand, staring out at the eerily calm sea. Carefully she removed her soaked robes, leaving only her light green tunic on, and a warm breeze stirred her hair as she combed her fingers through her feathers.

She was safe from the Questing Guards, but was she safe at all?

Syrah pulled herself to her feet and opened her wings—the jeweled shades of green of a summer hummingbird—and lifted into the sky. She might as well explore the island she was on.

* * *

“Wings were not meant to be underwater,” was a common warning among the White Witches. Like most Witch sayings, it had a double meaning, one that was obvious and one that was not.

Although most White Witches never touched the **Darke** enough to dissolve in contact with salt water, it still tended to affect them in some form or another, even if just by darkening the marks on their wings. 

The true warning in the words was not to try and do something that wasn’t meant for them. Wings were meant for flying, so you didn’t use them to swim.

Of course, as was also common among the White Witches, a rare few ever listened to the saying. Zelda certainly didn’t, and the evidence sat right in front of her, a young boy—man now, really—with a triple-link silver chain around his neck, intently mixing colored powders into a flask.

Marwick was an odd person, raised in the Young Army and then by the Forest. He thought differently than a Witch did, but he came to the same results in the same way. Zelda smiled fondly at him. 

Yes, she thought. She had made the right choice.

A heartbeat later, when Marwick asked what she was smiling about, Zelda couldn’t remember. 

* * *

Wings were not meant to be underwater, which was why Snorri stayed above. Riding each swell of the waves, trusting her boat to keep her above the water.

In the Lands of the Long Nights, girls’ wings were especially valued, to be kept soft and pretty, and generally useless, instead of hardened and strong against fighting the ocean’s waves. Snorri’s mother had wanted her to be like that, ribbons in her feathers matching her hair and dress. 

But Snorri hadn’t wanted that life. She longed to fly alongside the boat, salty spray tangling her hair and speckling her tunic. 

It was what first drew her to Nicko, the sense of freedom and deep ocean currents, the air of confidence you needed to not be afraid of the water. When he fell overboard he laughed, and let his wings dry in the sun while continuing onward. 

Wings were not meant to be underwater, but neither were they meant to be displayed like a pretty ornament. Caged and chained like a pet bird. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts or suggestions?


End file.
